Safety and Peace, Brother
by Madeline Kate
Summary: Altaïr finds himself up against a group of guards, can he make it back to the bureau alive? Some AltxMal
1. Chapter 1

Just a little fanfic I wrote after playing through AC1 again after ages. I do love annoying Malik and I thoroughly enjoy the relationship between him and Altaïr. This is my first for this genre, so I hope its okay!  
I do not own Assassin's creed, or its characters. I wish I did.

* * *

Five guards onto one man? That's hardly fair. Altaïr's sword danced, parrying and blocking blows from the sneering city guards, with shocking beauty. The guards were enclosing upon him, a common tactic, meant to cause panic and erratic risks, but this was nothing in the master assassin's eyes. One of the men in robes of crimson jumped back taunt him, hurling random insults with intent to provoke. Altaïr used this as an opening, smirking as he slashed the guard across the chest before jumping towards another, burying his hidden blade in his neck. The guard gurgled as his own blood flooded his lungs, spilling from his mouth, pooling beneath him after he fell to the ground.  
Seeing the glint of a guard's sword stabbing towards him out of the corner of his eye, Altaïr retracted his hidden blade and dodged out of the way, barely missing the blow as it darted past him, nicking his side.

Altaïr gasped as an image rose in his mind. Malik and he training as children, when Malik had suddenly dashed at him, gashing his side with his dagger; Malik was distraught. He hadn't meant to hurt Altaïr, he thought he would dodge, but Altaïr promptly forgave him, brushing it off as a bout between friends.

Shaking the memories from his mind, he saw that the guard had realised his mistake in overconfidence and tried to retreat back in order to keep the assassin at bay, it was futile. Altaïr knocked the guard's blade from his hand and kicked him in the solar plexus, sending him flying in the opposite direction. Altaïr's attention returned to the remaining two guards, whose obvious fear lingered in their eyes, leaving them standing around the assassin, neither daring to make a move.

In a swift motion, Altaïr made forwards to stab the guard to his left. Altaïr mumbled in frustration but his sword fell short as the guard in silver armour jumped back, dodging the sharp attack. So he was going to be tricky was he? Altaïr smiled as the guard stepped forwards to attack. He slashed at Altaïr, who simply turned his body to the side, allowing the blade to arc next to him and using the motion he had created, stabbed the guard through the stomach. The guard's eyes glazed as Altaïr kicked the guard off his sword and flicked the blood onto the street, keeping his sword clean.

The remaining guard's resolve failed and he ran from the assassin. Sheathing his sword, Altaïr easily ran him down, jabbing his hidden blade through the back of his neck. Altaïr smiled, those stupid city guards, so easy. He slid his hidden blade back and ran into a nearby alleyway, the city's bells were still ringing but he knew with certainty that they would soon stop.

Finding an easy handhold in the alley wall, Altaïr scaled to the roof, revelling in the simple exercise. As he reached to pull himself onto the roof, he felt a twinge of pain in his side. Altaïr smirked,  
'I suppose that damn guard got me after all.' Ignoring the pain, he heaved himself onto the rooftop, though Altaïr's smug humour was cut short.

"Attentäter!"

Seeing the white robes emblazoned with that crimson cross made Altaïr shudder with hatred; A Templar. Cursing his stupidity, Altaïr ran along the rooftops until the Templar caught up with him. Altaïr spun around to kick him down but the Templar was ready, he dodged the attack and made a slash for Altaïr, catching his shoulder as he pulled his sword out of its sheath. The blow made Altaïr stumble; Altaïr did not realise he was next to the edge, and fell into the street below, instilling panic into the civilians as they ran from his bloodied appearance. The Templar dropped down next to him as Altaïr jumped to his feet. Altaïr swore, he was hoping to avoid any more fights until he got back to the bureau. The Templar stabbed and slashed as Altaïr tried to parry and counter, each move becoming more laboured than the last when finally, he managed to get a slash across the Templar's neck, bleeding him out onto the street. Altaïr's breathing was heavy with exhaustion and adrenaline, and he knew he had to get back to the bureau.

Stepping from the pool of the Templar's blood, Altaïr climbed the wall before him as quick as he possibly could, feeling his wounds becoming more of a hindrance as time went by. As he ran, Altaïr pressed his hand to his side and felt the blood trickle through his fingers. Altaïr cursed the guard to hell; it seemed that the blade had cut him far deeper than he had originally thought; now he really had to get back before he himself bled out.

Seeing the grate to the bureau come into view, Altaïr breathed a short sigh of relief. Never in his life would he have thought he would be so glad to see Malik again. As Altaïr's hands grabbed the grate, they slipped with blood and he fell into the entrance of the bureau with a loud thud. Groaning in pain, Altaïr struggled to stand up and staggered to the wall, falling against it, coughing up blood. At least he made it.

* * *

Malik looked down at the map of Jerusalem that he had been drawing up for some novices and sighed, he was no longer finding interest in the smooth lines of ink he was creating and the bureau had become stuffy with the heat. Putting his quill aside after gently brushing off the ink on a spare piece of parchment, Malik began to wonder where Altaïr had gotten to. The city's alarm bells had long stopped ringing, but nagging sense of worry for his friend had tugged at his mind. Hearing a loud thump from the entrance, Malik assumed that someone had arrived for a mission.

'Probably another novice,' Malik scoffed as he brushed aside his concern and turned to survey his map. After waiting for a short period of time, Malik suddenly noticed that no one had come through the doorway, grabbing a small dagger from under the counter, Malik made his way around the desk, quietly edging towards the door. As he reached the doorway, Malik heard a ragged coughing, then a low groan and fearing for the worst, he rushed to see who it was, hoping for a novice. Malik gasped.

"Altaïr!" Malik ran to the injured man, slumped against the wall as he wearily lifted his head in response to his voice. "Altaïr, you novice, what have you done?" Seeing the bloody handprint on the wall above him, Malik used the dagger in his hand to cut away Altaïr's robes, searching for the source of the blood that had soaked his robes. There was an incredibly deep gash in Altaïr's side, which seemed to be the main source, as well as a cut in his shoulder, and many small scratches and bruises across his torso. Malik felt angry to think that Altaïr had allowed this to happen, but seeing the man gasping for air in agony made him disregard his anger while he ran to his desk to get the medical supplies.

Returning with a small bowl filled with bandages, salve and various other things he would require, Malik tipped the supplies gently to floor, and rushed to fill the bowl with water from the fountain. After soaking one of the rags with the water; Malik pressed it against Altaïr's side, trying to clean the wound. Altaïr cried out, clenching his fists in pain. Malik tried to hush him, for fear of alerting the guards and soon his cries turned to low grunts and groans. Malik sewed the wounds shut and bandaged his torso and shoulder tightly.

Malik's heart ached to see his friend in such agony, knowing he could only do so much. Malik removed Altaïr's weapons belt and boots then slowly helped him to stand, leading him to his own room behind the desk. Malik lowered Altaïr onto his bed, and sat in the chair beside it, intent on ensuring his friend's safety. Watching the fevered breathing and racking coughs, he wondered if Altaïr had fallen asleep yet.

"Who did this to you?" Malik whispered with malice, contented to damn those to hell who had caused the only man he loved to be in such a state. Malik soon felt his eyes droop and sunk deeper into the cushions of the chair, unwilling to fall asleep, but too weary to watch over his friend throughout the night.  
As the dull haze of sleep overtook his body, Malik whispered "I love you Altaïr." Knowing that his friend probably wouldn't have heard him, but undaunted by the fact of if he had as he slipped into his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again! I decided to write another chapter once I finally got a gap in between my homework and work!  
As always, I don't own the characters, I just manipulate them for my own fun :)

* * *

It was early morning when the warm Jerusalem sun shone through the bureau's latticed window, softly touching Malik's face. Malik sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why did the sun have to disturb him? He was quite comfortable where he was, watching over Altaïr…

"Altaïr!" Malik started, his mind flashing back to seeing Altaïr's blood painting the walls of his bureau with bright red handprints. Malik looked over to his friend, who was thankfully still entangled in the sheets of his bed; covered in bandages rather than blood, sleeping heavily.  
Malik heaved a sigh of relief; at least he was healing, he was alright now.

It had been four days since Altaïr had crashed into his bureau, sending Malik's life into turmoil. Malik slumped back into the wicker chair that had become his bed while looking after Altaïr, who had taken residence in his own during his incapacitation. Altaïr was beginning to show signs of improvement after sleeping feverishly for three days, his fever had gone down and there was less blood on soaking through his bandages after each change, good signs. Malik smiled as he rose and quietly walked over to his sleeping friend, who was softly snoring.

A Master Assassin? Snoring? Kadar would have loved that one. Malik stopped at the edge of the bed. Kadar, his carefree little brother; he was gone forever, and all because of the idiot of a man who lays upon his bed. Malik could have killed Altaïr so many times out of blind rage, but he no longer felt such anger towards him, he had watched Altaïr change throughout the months that he had been dropping into the bureau for assignments. Seeing Altaïr lay on the verge of death, Malik had realised it; he no longer hated Altaïr, he wasn't the Altaïr that had arrogantly surged forwards to confront De Sable, he wasn't the man who had left him and Kadar for dead, intent on surviving himself.

Malik knelt beside the bed and placed his head upon Altaïr's warm shoulder, of course he no longer hated Altaïr; he loved him.

"Malik?" Altaïr groaned as he rolled over after feeling something nudge his shoulder. Malik jumped up.

"Altaïr! Are you okay? Do you need anything?" overwhelmed to see Altaïr awake; Malik clasped his hand with Altaïr's. Altaïr closed his fingers over Malik's, sighing at the soft touch of his gentle fingers.

"I just thought I felt something on my shoulder is all," Altaïr coughed and groaned, still sore from the wound in his side the imbecile of a guard had given him. "I assume because I am looking at the dirty bureau walls that I'm not dead." He chuckled. Malik let go of his hand and jokingly slapped Altaïr across the head. He smiled as Altaïr tried to duck out of the way, he was fine.

"I think you'll find that these are the cleanest walls of any building in Jerusalem, and since you seem to be fine, I'll go back to my Rafiq duties." Malik turned to exit the room.

"No, no please don't go! I enjoy your company." Altaïr laughed as he made to get up from the bed, but fell back into after being stricken with pain from the movement. Malik shook his head in argument, seeing the pained look on Altaïr's face.

"If that's how you are, I don't think I'll go too far." Malik shook his head, resolving that he'd bring his unfinished maps in here, so as to complete his work and watch Altaïr at the same time. Did Altaïr really enjoy his company?  
"How do the bandages feel? Are they too tight?" He moved over to gently pull at the bandages, so as to remove them. Altaïr pushed his hand away, blushing slightly.

"No, they're alright. I'm just sore."

Malik felt shocked; Altaïr was blushing? Did he share Malik's odd feelings? That couldn't possibly be true. Malik drew his hand back, unsure of what to do. Malik stammered to find something to say, but was interrupted by Altaïr taking his hand in his own, delicately caressing Malik's fingers with his calloused thumb. Altaïr lent over with a slight grimace to kiss Malik's hand; he felt like a little girl, being courted by a noble. He felt silly and turned away as he felt his face become hot. Altaïr snickered and move his face towards Malik's, nuzzling his nose with his own. Malik drew back at the feeling of Altaïr's lips upon his own, soft and forceful but unsure? Malik gasped. Altaïr was kissing him, he had dreamed about this happening but he never thought even in his wildest dreams that it would ever be a reality!  
Malik eagerly pressed his own lips back upon Altaïr's, finding every cut and curve of his lips until his lungs screamed for air.

"I never thought you felt the same… I thought you must surely hate me for what I've done." Altaïr panted, looking into Malik's deep brown eyes.  
"I've been a fool."

Malik looked taken aback.  
"Normally I'd make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?"

"All this time, I never told you I was sorry; too damn proud. You lost your arm because of me, lost Kadar. You had every right to be angry." Altaïr glanced down, away from Malik's eyes, away from the man to whom he had caused so much pain.

"I do not accept your apology." Malik studied his hand as it lay in his lap.

"I understand." Altaïr sighed; he would have to leave this place. Leave Malik.

"No. You don't. I do not accept your apology because you are not the same man who went with me into Solomon's Temple. And so you have nothing to apologize for." Malik grew angry, annoyed at Altaïr's pigheadedness, his idiocy.

"Malik..." Altaïr looked incredibly confused, not entirely understanding where Malik was going with his thoughts.

"Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I... would not have been so careless myself. I'm just as much to blame." Malik proclaimed abashedly. He wanted Altaïr to know that he didn't hate him anymore.

"Don't say such things." Altaïr still felt confused, but what Malik was saying didn't entirely add up, where was he leading? Was he trying to put the blame on himself rather than Altaïr?

"We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer, we grow stronger." Altaïr finally understood. Malik was forgiving him for becoming who he was today, not for what he had done in the past. Altaïr felt a tear begin to well in his eye.

"Malik… Thank you, brother." Altaïr began to turn away but stopped himself. He reached over and softly kissed Malik on the cheek, it was the only way he knew how to show his thanks to its fullest extent. Malik blushed slightly.

"I love you, Malik."


End file.
